


Riding in Cars with Cops

by literati42



Series: Riding in Cars with Cops [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Gil is the best dad, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, ProdigalSonday, mental health, surrogate father
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-13 02:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21486727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literati42/pseuds/literati42
Summary: Bringing Malcolm on stakeouts started as a mistake, but it became the moments Gil would cherish.For the Prodigal Sonday event from twitterUpdate: Now each chapter is a on shot focusing on a different stakeout throughout Malcolm's childhood
Series: Riding in Cars with Cops [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623712
Comments: 41
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Prodigal Sonday! I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Feel free to follow me on twitter for more Prodigal Son fun (including my Malcolm Bright playlist)
> 
> Also there is a lot of discussion of mental health here, so see end notes for more on these
> 
> ****I am taking requests!****

The first time was a complete accident.

Gil sat in the driver seat of his cruiser and stared at the scene. He was supposed to be at family dinner, a new weekly tradition with his wife and Malcolm that started just a few short weeks after the arrest of the Surgeon. Jessica needed the space from her son, the desperation in her eyes every time they met told him that, and he was lucky enough to have become one of the few people she trusted. She did not always like Gil—he knew that—but she did believe he was good for Malcolm, and that was enough for him. So, little by little, she let him and Jackie into Malcolm’s life. Now, he saw the kid at least once a week for dinner. Though honestly, he found reasons to “be in the neighborhood” far more often.

Malcolm did not speak. He did not eat, and he always looked like he did not get enough sleep. But he came. He sat at the table, and they talked to him. Jackie told stories or Gil explained something he heard on the radio that day.

“Give him time,” Jackie kept encouraging, and they did.

So, Gil hated leaving the two of them at dinner that evening when the call came through, but a break in the case was break in the case. He shifted in his seat, glancing out at the motionless scene. A slight movement in the opposite direction from what he was expecting. Gil whipped around to find a familiar face staring at him from the back seat. “Kid! What are you doing here?”

Malcolm was shivering, silent as ever, but his eyes found Gil’s and then looked out the windshield, trying to see what Gil was looking for. The officer cringed. Looking at Malcolm Whitly through the protective shielding reminded him too much of Martin Whitly at his arrest. Gil glanced forward. So far there was nothing to imply any of the suspects were around. He got out cautiously and came around the other side, opening the back door. “Come on, that’s where the bad guys sit. Crimefighters like you and me sit up front,” he said. He opened the passenger door, and Malcolm scrambled from the back to the front.

Once they were both back in, he glanced over. Malcolm seemed alert, focused on the scene ahead. He seemed more alert and attentive than Gil had seen him since Dr. Whitly’s arrest. Gil relaxed back in the seat. The people he was after were nonviolent, Malcolm seemed to be engaged, and it was one time. So, he took off his jacket and handed it to the kid. Malcolm pulled it around him, looking like a miniature cop. Gil began chattering about the case. “If you’re going to be my partner, we need to get you caught up,” he said. Malcolm looked up at him, listening to every word.

One time probably would not hurt.

_-_-_

The second time he got called away from family dinner, Malcolm got up to follow. Gil stopped. “Malcolm, you can’t come with me. You need to stay with Jackie.”

A few months had gone by since the arrest, but Malcolm was still silent. At the moment, he furrowed his brow, his frustration apparent. He shook his head. That was more communication than they usually got out of him. “I can’t,” Gil said, “I’m sorry.” He gently squeezed the kid’s shoulder. Then Malcolm grabbed onto his sleeve with a surprisingly firm grip. He shook his head again. “Malcolm, I’m sorry, kid, I have to go.” Malcolm released him then and ran out the door.

Gil stifled a curse and followed after him. The kid was beside the cruiser, pulling on the locked passenger door. Gil walked over and, against his better judgment, unlocked it. Immediately, Malcolm climbed inside. The officer glanced back at the open front door and found Jackie there watching, her eyes studying the scene. If she had any idea how to solve this, she was giving him nothing. He walked around, turning to face Malcolm. “I can’t take you with me, it’s dangerous.”

“Partners.”

Gil’s eyes widened. The word was hoarse from Malcolm’s unused vocal cords but clear. “Malcolm?”

“Partners,” he pointed between Gil and him. “Partner’s keep each other safe.”

Officer Gil Arroyo felt shock, but he also felt joy. It was a moment of weakness, he knew, but Malcolm was talking after all this time. So, Gil let him come.

Two times would probably not hurt anything.

_-_-_

Malcolm was thirteen, sitting in the passenger seat of the cruiser, sipping at the decaf coffee Gil let him have. Gil lost track of the times his “moments of weakness” meant he let Malcolm come on stakeouts over the years, but at this point, he gave up trying to pretend there would not be another time. Malcolm came alive on a stakeout.

“So I learned about Ed Gein…”

“Is that the clown one or cannibal one?”

“Neither. The human skin one. I got a book out of the school library about famous criminals…”

Malcolm began chattering about the serial killer and musing on what made him tick. Gil listened, nodding and hmming with enough frequency to encourage the flow of words. The detective knew that Jessica Whitly discouraged these “morbid preoccupations” as much as she could, but ultimately it was one of the few areas where Malcolm seemed able to have some control. Malcolm could not undo his traumatic past, he could not fix is mangled family, but he could learn everything about the twisted minds of men like his father.

Maybe there was some good in that.

Gil glanced at the kid. Malcolm also could not control the way people reacted to him. There was a black eye forming and dried blood on his lip. Gil wondered if he should let it be a little longer, but he knew he had to ask at some point, and Malcolm was winding down on this story. “And,” Gil said, “Did you get the shiner at school also?”

Malcolm went quiet, and Gil wished he let the happy rambling go a bit longer. The kid started picking at his nails, tugging on the sleeve of his hoodie—the one he kept at Gil’s place because his mother would not let him leave the house looking like that. “The bio teacher labeled the diagram wrong,” he said, “But it wasn’t the medial nerve…” Malcolm’s shoulders slumped, “They called me ‘Surgeon’s son.’” Gil reached over and squeezed the back of the kid’s neck, a gentle pressure to steady him and let him know he was not alone.

“So, the guy made furniture with the skin?” Gil asked. He saw a slight smile of appreciation cross Malcolm’s face before the kid started chatting again.

_-_-_

Malcolm, age fifteen now, skinnier and paler than he ever should be, leaned forward on the seat. Malcolm immediately leaned back in the seat. He shifted until he was, impossibly, sitting cross-legged. Then moved again. When Gil looked over, Malcolm was turning so his back was against the passenger side door and his feet were pushing against Gil’s arm. The detective raised an eyebrow, and the kid moved again, at least enough that his shoes were not touching Gil. “Problem?”

“Nothing is happening,” the teenager said. Gil sometimes wondered if Malcolm was bipolar. His diagnoses of complex PTSD, generalized anxiety disorder, and major depressive disorder did not, from Gil’s research, seem to explain the alternating moods he saw. Sometimes Malcolm was so low he would not speak. He struggled to get out of bed and looked like emotions sunk into him so deeply they could never come back out. Then there were days like this one. He seemed manic. His movements were quick, his gestures broad, and his ability to make rational decisions were entirely out the window. Jessica, per usual, did not take Gil’s suggestion seriously, so he sought out a therapist friend of Jackie’s. While she explained she could not diagnosis him without seeing him, she said that he did not sound bipolar. His emotions reacted to the situation rather than moving in rhythms and showed a pattern of instability that was not typical of bipolar.

So not manic, just…hyper. Just unable to contain the energy inside his skin.

Gil smiled, it was nice to see his kid happy. “Police work…”

“Is patience,” Malcolm replied, smiling softly. “I know but…”

“But. Police work isn’t the big moments. It isn’t the arrest or the drinks after case closed. It’s following the leads, it’s working meticulously through the information even when it’s tedious. It’s waiting on a stakeout when nothing is happening and becoming comfortable with the idea that nothing will happen.” Gil stopped, looking at the smile the kid was giving him. “What?”

“It’s entertaining when you’re the one ranting, not me.”

Gil shook his head, but could not keep the smile off his face.

_-_-_

Malcolm, age eighteen, opened the door and collapsed into the passenger seat of Gil’s car with a sigh so dramatic it would not have been out of place in a play. Gil raised an eyebrow. “Welcome back from college. Enjoying your break?”

Malcolm’s look could have withered a lesser man, or at least one who knew him less well. “My mother is impossible.”

“You know, I was worried things would change when you went to Harvard, but I am glad to see some things never do.” When the kid did not react, Gil pulled a piece of hard candy out of his pocket and passed it his way. Green for Malcolm. Always.

Malcolm took it, and the lingering teenage angst melted off him. With one piece of candy, Gil sent him a reminder of their years of shared moments. In the smile he gave in return, Malcolm acknowledged it. He popped the candy in his mouth and leaned his head on the passenger side door. Gil watched the kid and felt love so profound for him it was too much to put into words. He reached over and squeezed the back of Malcolm’s neck.

It started as an accident, but he would forever be grateful for these stakeouts. 


	2. Graduation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! This story is now a series of one shots focusing on the different stake outs throughout Malcolm's childhood. It jumps around in time from chapter to chapter.
> 
> As always feel free to come chat with me on twitter @themythofpsyche
> 
> and******** I am taking requests!!!! *******

It did not matter that there was a break in his case, Detective Gil Arroyo left the office at exactly 2:00 because there was something he could not miss. In the middle of the afternoon on a Friday, he left work early and drove his car across town to Saint Lucien Private School. He noted his car was definitely the cheapest thing in the whole parking lot. Gauging by the parents walking in, his suit was probably also the cheapest. The look he got from security and the twice over they gave his ticket said he was not the only one who noticed how out of place he was in this place. Gil shook his head, amused and not for the first time, at the prestigious world he found himself connected to thanks to the Whitlys.

He made his way inside, scanning the crowd. Jessica Whilty stood toward the back, immaculate in a navy blue dress, blazer, and pearls. One hand perched on her hip while the other gestured broadly along to whatever she was saying to her daughter, the pre-adolescent Ainsley Whitly. Gil saw the way Ainsley was trying to be as tall as possible in her heels, trying to look grown up around the teenagers at this school.

He made his way to them. Entering the Whitly’s sphere formed a tangible change. All the attention Gil received because of his inexpensive suit vanished, and suddenly he experienced the exact opposite sensation. No eyes made their way to this spot, no glances, no greetings. Gil never felt a cold shoulder like an entire auditorium of elite citizens of New York completely ignoring Jessica in unison.

He thought briefly if he huffed, he might be able to see his breath from the cold of it.

“Jessica, Ainsley,” he said.

“Detective Arroyo,” she said, “Is your wife not joining us today?”

“Jackie’s on her way. I came straight from work.”

She nodded, and Gil saw that no more small talk was coming.

“Is something wrong, Jessica?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “My son has not chosen to show up yet.” Gil furrowed his brow.

“Malcolm’s not here?”

“No. Leave it to my son to not show up to his own graduation.”

“Have you called him?”

“She called him 30 times,” Ainsley said, rolling her eyes.

Jessica waved her phone. “What is the point of buying your children the best phones money can offer if they never answer them?”

Gil offered her a consoling smile, “Let me try him, alright?” he looked to Ainsley, “Keep an eye out for Jackie, alright?” He turned on his heel and headed outside before pulling out his phone and flipping it open. He clicked the callback button, Malcolm’s number popping up first, and he the button again, listening to it ring.

“Gil?”

He felt a well of relief run through him at the sound of that voice on the other end. “I thought you might be screening your mother’s calls. Where are you?”

“I’m here.”

“No, I’m here,” Gil said. “You are not.”

He heard the quiet sigh, “Roof. There’s an access from the backstair, go inside and head all the way back and to the left.” Gil hung up and followed the kid’s instructions, heading up several flights of stairs and pushing through a “staff only” door. He saw Malcolm sitting on the guard wall, legs dangling off the building because of course he was. He was dressed as always in a suit that probably cost more than Gil’s entire wardrobe, this one a grey with thin stripes. His graduation gown was draped over one shoulder like a cape, the cap discarded on the ground.

“I see you have a healthy appreciation for Staff Only zones,” he said as he approached the kid, coming to stand beside him. He glanced at Malcolm’s face in profile, trying to see how bad it was, but those revealing blue eyes stayed focused ahead.

Gil tried to console himself. The kid was sitting, not standing on the edge. His eyes were on the skyline, not the ground.

“Yeah, Staff Only usually means no one’s up here,” he said.

“Mmm.” Gil replied, “Are you planning on coming down at all, or are you going to throw your cap from up here?”

“I wasn’t my idea to come,” he said. “My mother insisted. After all, did I want to be the first Milton in generations not to walk across the graduation stage at this school?” He said it with just the inflection Gil could imagine from Jessica herself. “I don’t know why she still cares. It’s not like the Miltons care.” He looked over at Gil, “I think she sent them an invitation.”

Gil nodded, slowly moving to sit on the wall too. He squeezed the kid’s shoulder gently. Malcolm rarely mentioned his maternal grandparents. Neither did Jessica really. She often spoke of the Miltons as a legacy, a family name, but rarely the actual people of her mother and father.

“You know she’ll be angry if you skip out,” Gil said, eyeing the teenager. Malcolm nodded.

“Oh, she’ll be furious, but only for a few days, and then she’ll get over it.” He tilted his head slightly, “If I cross that stage…the reaction will hurt her for a lot longer. She thinks them reading off that I got into Harvard will be a moment of triumph, a ‘see he turned out despite everyone’s expectations.’ She doesn’t get that it won’t make a damn bit of difference.”

Despite knowing Malcolm since he was 11, the kid still possessed the uncanny knack for taking Gil entirely by surprise. Jessica and Malcolm fought constantly and got under each other’s skin with precision, but at the end of the day, they understood each other like no one else could and cared deeply for each other. Moments like this made that apparent. “What will they do?” he asked.

Malcolm sighed, the invisible weight on his shoulders seemed to increase. “Best case scenario? Polite applause with obvious disdain. Maybe only one or two people whisper ‘The Surgeon’.”

“Worst case scenario?”

“Have you seen Carrie?”

Malcolm had a tendency toward the dramatic, but over the years, Gil had picked him up from school with a black eye or busted lip too many times. He squeezed the back of his kid’s neck. “I got a break in the case today.” The teenager looked up, eyebrow raised in confusion. “What do you say, partner? Feel up to a stakeout?”

“What about Jackie?”

“She’ll understand. And we’ll call your mother from the car.”

“Where she can’t reach you. Smart.”

Gil smiled slightly, scooping up the kid's graduation cap and offering it to him. Malcolm held it for half a second and then chucked it, frisbee style off the rough. “Goodbye, soul-sucking high school.”

“Hello, a bright future,” Gil replied, pulling his kid in for a hug as they headed toward Gil’s car and away from the pretension behind the ivy-covered doors.

**Author's Note:**

> Myself and my fellow psych doctoral students who watch the show together personally believe that along with Malcolm's complex PTSD, depression and GAD, he has undiagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder, which is what Gil is describing above.  
For more on Borderline see here:  
https://www.nami.org/learn-more/mental-health-conditions/borderline-personality-disorder


End file.
